Office With A View
by Bookwrm389
Summary: Mustang is the Fuhrer, Hughes is alive and Ed gets his very own office. Which may not necessarily be a good thing. But at least the view is quite...interesting.


_A.N. Not meant to be taken seriously, but not complete crack either. In fact, I'm not quite sure WHAT this is. It started out as one thing and morphed into another thing entirely. _

Office With A View

The door to the empty office slid open halfway and Ed poked his head in cautiously. When a quick scan revealed nothing suspicious, he ventured further inside. Stopping in the very center, Ed turned slowly on the spot, taking in every minute detail of the room with distrustful eyes.

"Can I come in now, Brother?"

"One second," Ed barked curtly. "I'm still scoping it out."

An exasperated sigh came from the hallway and Al came striding into the office with an amused smile. "You know what, Ed? Has it occurred to you that the colonel--er, _Fuhrer_--is _not_ malicious enough to booby trap your new office?"

"Nope," Ed grunted and proceeded to jerk open the drawers on every single desk and file cabinet. Finding nothing, he pressed his ear to the nearest wall and started knocking at intervals in search of hollow spots. Al bit back a chuckle at his brother's behavior and crossed the office to another door, which led to the inner office.

"_Wait, Al!_"

Al snatched his hand back from the handle. "What?"

Ed rushed over and carefully inspected every inch of the mysterious door before kicking it viciously with his automail foot. The door smashed open, the lock completely shattered, and Ed jumped away as if expecting a pack of rapid dogs to come charging out. When said dogs made no appearance, Ed frowned and stomped inside. Al followed at a more sedate pace and they found themselves in a room reminiscent of Mustang's old office with a sizeable desk, bookshelves, couches and a large window directly opposite the door.

"Of course it makes perfect sense," Ed muttered, lying down to search under the couches. "Couldn't lay the trap out where any underling might trigger it, oh no, it's definitely in here somewhere…"

"Wow, look at this view!" Al said in awe. The window looked down on the large courtyard of Central headquarters and was placed close to the main building where the Fuhrer's office was. Once Mustang had attained his goal, one of his first actions had been to reward all of his most loyal followers with substantial promotions and offices of their very own.

Unfortunately, Ed was having a hard time simply accepting this generosity with the dignity due his rank.

"That bastard must have rigged _something!_"

Ed was getting desperate now. He scrambled onto the desk to check the ceiling. For what exactly, Al wasn't entirely sure. Loose ceiling tiles, maybe?

"Brother, get down from there! You're leaving mud prints all over your new desk!"

"Like I give a crap," Ed said bluntly. "It's not like I'll be spending any time here. I'm a fieldwork kind of guy."

Ed jumped down and took one last look around. To Al's relief, he finally gave up and circled the desk to his new chair with an easy smile. "Guess he finally appreciates everything that we did for him over the years. It's about damn time I got my reward!"

"And here I thought you only cared about getting our lives back to normal," Al teased.

Ed pulled out the chair and ran his hand over the seat, more as an afterthought than out of actual concern for his safety. "Well, that too, but really, without our help Mustang probably wouldn't be where he is today, so--"

As soon as Ed took a seat, the chair plunged down until only his forehead could be seen. Al walked around the desk and could only stare in bemusement as his brother struggled to get up from the shortened chair, now practically level with the floor. Underneath the desk, a small handwritten note was taped to the wood.

_Just your size, eh shrimp?_

"That _bastard!_"

A multitude of chattering voices announced the arrival of a large group of people and Hughes appeared in the door with Mustang's loyal group behind him. "Hey, boys! We were just about to start our celebration party…um, where's Ed?"

An ominous clap echoed from behind the desk and a scowling Ed rose up into view on his newly mended chair.

"You don't mind if we use your office, right Ed?" Hughes asked cheerfully. "It's the biggest out of all of ours."

"Just as long as Mustang's not invited," Ed grumbled darkly as Falman and Fuery carted armfuls of food and drinks inside. Havoc poured out champagne for everyone while Breda helped himself to the food.

"He and Hawkeye said they'd come a little later," Hughes answered. "Something about getting some official Fuhrer stuff done."

"Are those cupcakes?!" Al exclaimed, eyes bugging out at the sight of the sugary creations. Ever since getting his body back, Al had been having the oddest cravings when it came to food. Ed sometimes had to physically restrain him from overeating.

"Gracia made them for us," Hughes announced proudly.

"Don't make yourself sick again," Ed warned as Al wolfed down a cupcake in record time.

While everyone was busy, Ed tore Mustang's note off the desk and made to toss it in the trash, but stopped when he spotted another note taped to the bottom of the wastebasket.

_Lighten up, Fullmetal._

Ed kicked the trash can over and stalked over to the window, glaring at the main building. He was about to turn away when movement in one of the windows caught his eyes. Well, look at that! He had a perfect view of the Fuhrer's office. Ed could see Mustang now, leaning casually on the desk as he spoke with Hawkeye.

"So much for having work to do," Ed snorted. "Just look at this, Al! He's gloating about his victory, I just know it!"

"Which victory?" Al quipped and joined his brother by the window. "Becoming Fuhrer or the success of his prank?"

"Oh, shut up," Ed snapped. "There's no way they're talking official business or anything. They're acting way too casual for…that…what the…?"

Ed's sentence trailed off and both his and Al's mouths dropped open in astonishment. After a moment of tense silence, Al ventured a question.

"Um, Brother…why are they taking their clothes off?"

"Y-You're asking me?!" Ed spluttered, hastily averting his gaze from Hawkeye's rather endowed body. "Uh…maybe it's hot up there?"

Havoc, who had wandered near the window during this exchange, stopped and took a look for himself over Ed's shoulder. "Oh, it's hot up there alright," he chuckled.

Together, Ed and Al looked back out the window.

"Oh my _God!_" Ed bellowed.

"What are they _doing?!_" Al yelped.

Ed shielded his younger brother's eyes and pulled him back from the window. "Something you shouldn't be watching!" he said firmly. He caught a glimpse of Mustang through the window and began to look a little nauseous. "Or me!"

"What's wrong with all you guys?" Hughes asked, having taken notice of the uncomfortable atmosphere near the window. Ed pointed him in the right direction and Hughes' eyebrows rose through the roof. "_Wow!_ There's a position you don't see every day!"

Which of course brought the rest of the room over to view the show and soon everyone's faces were plastered to the window.

Havoc took a swig from his champagne glass, blinking up at the Fuhrer's office. "You know, I knew on some level Mustang was a kinky man, but _yikes!_"

"Maybe it's not what we think?" Falman suggested weakly. "That particular motion couldn't _possibly_ be considered pleasurable."

Breda whirled around. "Hughes, gimme the camera! This is blackmail material of the century!"

"Absolutely not!" Hughes answered crossly. "My camera is only for things that are beautiful. I won't defile it with…_that!_"

A mortified Fuery abandoned the group at the window and curled up in a corner with the traumatized Elrics. "I really wish those two had chosen a more private area for that activity," he whimpered.

Ed jumped to his feet with an enraged howl. "Wait, that's it Al! Mustang must have planned this whole thing out! He's going to give me a front row seat to this every day! _Damn you, Mustang, now I'm scarred for life!"_

Al peeked out the window once more to check if the Fuhrer and his…partner were done and shuddered. "That might actually be true. They even brought a mat to lie on."

"Well imagine how uncomfortable that would be _without_ the mat!" Falman pointed out.

"Hmph!"

Everyone tore their eyes from the window to see that Armstrong had arrived and was shaking his head in disapproval. "A lovely display of the human body's suppleness, but our Fuhrer is obviously a novice! Allow me to demonstrate the proper form!

_**"NO!!!"**_

_**

* * *

**_

Hawkeye slid the curtains shut irritably. She turned back to Mustang with her hands on her hips, her impatience not at all diminished by the fact that she wore only a sports bra and exercise shorts. "Would it have killed you to shut those before we began, sir?"

She returned to where Mustang lay flat on his back, torso glistening with sweat and his expression pained. "Can we leave it here for today? My back _hurts!_"

"Blame yourself, sir," Hawkeye said sternly. "You're the one who wanted to go straight to Level Three poses instead of starting at the beginning. I warned you this routine wasn't for the faint of heart."

Mustang groaned and curled up in the fetal position. "I _trusted_ you, Hawkeye. You said yoga would _relieve_ my stress, but this is torture! Stupid eastern remedies…"

Hawkeye gave him a sharp rap on the head. "That's General Hawkeye to you and you've still got twenty minutes left in this lesson. Now_ stretch!_"

* * *

_A.N. Perhaps I should explain that no one in Ed's office except Armstrong is familiar with yoga, which is why they mistake the poses for something more suggestive. Just for the record, I have never practiced yoga and have absolutely nothing against anyone who does, so please save the flames for grammar mishaps, plotholes or grossly OOC moments!_


End file.
